The Lake
ALANNA WILLMAN
Alice Porter frequents speakeasies and parties like flies frequent rotting meat, and that’s almost what she thinks of them. Hot and sweaty spaces crowded with hoppers and Johnnie Walkers could be found all over town, just like Alice. Even though none of these things appeal to her, she keeps coming back to this rotting chuck of society in her gold shoes and her gold hair with an upturned nose and red lips stuck in a sneer. Tonight is no different than last night, a loud and busy parlor party filled with flaps and dappers crowded into some poor woman’s front entry. She watches the glasses pass from jeweled hand to painted mouth and occasionally clumsy hand to too-expensive carpet, watches cigars and business cards and favors pass around too. But her eyes keep darting back to that entryway, that heavy, striking doorway that always promises new faces.
“Hey!” she snaps suddenly, striking the hand that starts to creep around her waist. “Bank’s closed!” The tall, dark haired man that had crept up behind her scowls and slinks off, a band of college boys in tow. Alice rolls her eyes and rests her chin on her white glove, scanning the parlor for one face in particular. None were quite round enough, quite dark enough, and none wear that iconic smirk quite the same way. The groaning of the doorway turns her head, but what tumbles through is ratty and so loud and unexpected everyone turns to look.
“Hey! Hey!!” The front door heaves open and a man with yellow hair and dirty shoes stumbles into the front room, tracking muck on the white flooring.
“Get out of here, Walk In!” shouts a voice from the silence, haughty and sharp and a snicker follows it.
“No, no...” He bends over his knees and pants loudly. “No there’s… Something’s come out of the lake!” Well this certainly gets everyone’s attention. Out from the throng a round and pompous woman appears, red faced from worry or something more questionable, it’s hard to say.
“What?” she slurs through swollen lips.
“Something’s come out of the lake, something big!” The man repeats himself, even more frantic. He turns on his heel and tears out of the home, shouting something Alice can’t hear as people start to follow. People in their dresses and jewels pile out of the front room almost as quickly as they pooled in just hours ago, and Alice right along with them. In a tight group they funnel through the doorway as two try to push their way in. Alice almost trips. Mr. and Mrs. Brawley, both striking and smirking, are trying to reason with the party-goers, but eventually give in to the stream and follow the crowd down the stone walkway to the lake.
The party house sits on the lake, just a short hop away through the garden. The round woman tries to keep people from trampling her violets but that dark mirror in the distance is too pulling to stop anyone for much of anything. Alice strains her eyes over the many heads that surpass her’s, trying to look for what “big” thing might have come out of the lake. If she can’t see it yet, she reasons, it can’t be that big.
After the helpful cobblestone of the garden walk ends, the grass begins, damp and muddy with spring rains. Everyone holds onto someone else for stability in the muck, though no one else is really faring any better than the other. Alice trips and tries to reach out for something to hold on to, but instead runs face first into the tightly tailored jacket of Mr. Brawley, who has stopped and stares at the edge of the lake like everyone else in front of him. Alice mumbles some kind of apology and straightens to her tiptoes to try and see what everyone else is looking at.
“What a ritzy burg, we should have stayed home...” Mrs. Brawley whispers to Mr. Brawley, looking down at her shoes in petty disgust. The couple are too tall to see over, and as much as those beautiful smirking faces draw her in, Alice squirms through arms and torsos to try and find a better opening. As she maneuvers through the crowd, gasps and utterances and even a scream meet her ears and fuel her curiosity enough to just admit defeat and ask.
“What’s going on? What is it?” she hisses to a lady in front of her. The lady, whom Alice almost didn’t see because the navy of her dress matches the sky so excellently, turns and her watery eyes don’t say anything. Neither does her lips, as she just stares with a terrified expression on her face before slowly turning back around. Alice shoves past her and makes sure to step on her toes, and clambers again for a better view of the whatever it is people are so fascinated with. By damn she wants to be fascinated too.
“What is it?” she tries asking another person. This time she goes for a more likely candidate to answer her question with enough certainty. He’s tall and smells of smoke and cheap lady’s perfume.
“Here,” he says, and kneels down. “I’ll give you a boost.” Alice pauses, almost horrified, but gladly tracks muddy heel prints on his shirt when she realizes it means finally getting to be included in this mess. Half-kneeling, half-sitting on this stranger’s shoulders, Alice stares out over the heads before her to the edge of the lake that lies about fifty yards away. The only one that dares to get closer is the yellow-haired man, who is now pointing and shouting questions Alice can’t understand over her own blood rushing in her ears.
“My god...” she whispers to herself, “that is big.”
“Hey!” she snaps suddenly, striking the hand that starts to creep around her waist. “Bank’s closed!” The tall, dark haired man that had crept up behind her scowls and slinks off, a band of college boys in tow. Alice rolls her eyes and rests her chin on her white glove, scanning the parlor for one face in particular. None were quite round enough, quite dark enough, and none wear that iconic smirk quite the same way. The groaning of the doorway turns her head, but what tumbles through is ratty and so loud and unexpected everyone turns to look.
“Hey! Hey!!” The front door heaves open and a man with yellow hair and dirty shoes stumbles into the front room, tracking muck on the white flooring.
“Get out of here, Walk In!” shouts a voice from the silence, haughty and sharp and a snicker follows it.
“No, no...” He bends over his knees and pants loudly. “No there’s… Something’s come out of the lake!” Well this certainly gets everyone’s attention. Out from the throng a round and pompous woman appears, red faced from worry or something more questionable, it’s hard to say.
“What?” she slurs through swollen lips.
“Something’s come out of the lake, something big!” The man repeats himself, even more frantic. He turns on his heel and tears out of the home, shouting something Alice can’t hear as people start to follow. People in their dresses and jewels pile out of the front room almost as quickly as they pooled in just hours ago, and Alice right along with them. In a tight group they funnel through the doorway as two try to push their way in. Alice almost trips. Mr. and Mrs. Brawley, both striking and smirking, are trying to reason with the party-goers, but eventually give in to the stream and follow the crowd down the stone walkway to the lake.
The party house sits on the lake, just a short hop away through the garden. The round woman tries to keep people from trampling her violets but that dark mirror in the distance is too pulling to stop anyone for much of anything. Alice strains her eyes over the many heads that surpass her’s, trying to look for what “big” thing might have come out of the lake. If she can’t see it yet, she reasons, it can’t be that big.
After the helpful cobblestone of the garden walk ends, the grass begins, damp and muddy with spring rains. Everyone holds onto someone else for stability in the muck, though no one else is really faring any better than the other. Alice trips and tries to reach out for something to hold on to, but instead runs face first into the tightly tailored jacket of Mr. Brawley, who has stopped and stares at the edge of the lake like everyone else in front of him. Alice mumbles some kind of apology and straightens to her tiptoes to try and see what everyone else is looking at.
“What a ritzy burg, we should have stayed home...” Mrs. Brawley whispers to Mr. Brawley, looking down at her shoes in petty disgust. The couple are too tall to see over, and as much as those beautiful smirking faces draw her in, Alice squirms through arms and torsos to try and find a better opening. As she maneuvers through the crowd, gasps and utterances and even a scream meet her ears and fuel her curiosity enough to just admit defeat and ask.
“What’s going on? What is it?” she hisses to a lady in front of her. The lady, whom Alice almost didn’t see because the navy of her dress matches the sky so excellently, turns and her watery eyes don’t say anything. Neither does her lips, as she just stares with a terrified expression on her face before slowly turning back around. Alice shoves past her and makes sure to step on her toes, and clambers again for a better view of the whatever it is people are so fascinated with. By damn she wants to be fascinated too.
“What is it?” she tries asking another person. This time she goes for a more likely candidate to answer her question with enough certainty. He’s tall and smells of smoke and cheap lady’s perfume.
“Here,” he says, and kneels down. “I’ll give you a boost.” Alice pauses, almost horrified, but gladly tracks muddy heel prints on his shirt when she realizes it means finally getting to be included in this mess. Half-kneeling, half-sitting on this stranger’s shoulders, Alice stares out over the heads before her to the edge of the lake that lies about fifty yards away. The only one that dares to get closer is the yellow-haired man, who is now pointing and shouting questions Alice can’t understand over her own blood rushing in her ears.
“My god...” she whispers to herself, “that is big.”